I'm in New York City again–which is fine by me. This was my last glimpse of the dining room table (where the packing happens) before my suitcases and I rolled out the door.
Yes, I leave notes for myself as I pack. And I make lists. Many lists. Seven, this time. Otherwise I'd arrive at the gig with three kilts, a dozen mismatched knitting needles and one shoe.
This time the gig in question is the second coming of Vogue Knitting Live! at the New York Hilton.
Classes start tomorrow, but the yarn huffers are already here in force. Walking from the front desk to the elevator I must have passed at least two dozen. Guests who aren't here for Vogue Knitting Live! are already looking adorably alarmed. You can hear the internal monologues and whispered conversations as they pass.
"Is that...knitting? But...why are they all knitting? Omigod one of them is a guy! Is this a New York thing? What the hell is going on?"
Well they should worry. We will accept nothing less than world domination.